


Softly, Thine Body Beloved

by MrsNoggin



Series: Crowley has a Thing for... [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Worship, Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, Insecure Aziraphale, M/M, Plush Angel, Top Crowley - Freeform, mentions of switching, thigh kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: Crowley’s only visible softness is in the heat of his eyes and the curl of his smile. He is bone and muscle and sinew, and when he pushes Aziraphale down into the mattress, the angel is sure he can feel every corner of him.Aziraphale has thicc thighs. Crowley has a bit of a thing for them.





	Softly, Thine Body Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> For those, who like me, have a _thing_ for thighs. 
> 
> Thanks to [ GeekOnCaffeine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekoncaffeine/) for the read-over, and those in the twitter conversation for enabling me.

Aziraphale has always been self- conscious about his body, the way his clothes fit, or don't. Sometimes when he sits the seams strain a little. Don't get him wrong, there is muscle there, but just… chub on top. He's managed to keep most of his body sort of trim; there’s just a little softness to the curve of his belly, a little give to the skin under his chin, a large squish around the thighs. 

Crowley’s only visible softness is in the heat of his eyes and the curl of his smile. He is bone and muscle and sinew, and when he pushes Aziraphale down into the mattress, the angel is sure he can feel every corner of him.

They’ve never done this before. They never felt they could, with all those people  _ watching _ . But Crowley says no one sees them now: the legions of Hell daren’t, and Heaven would really rather not know what they are getting up to, seeing as they don’t even know what they are anymore. There is no one to answer to, except each other. So when Crowley had put a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek and leaned in to share breath with him, Aziraphale had given his air, and taken Crowley’s, and kissed him as he’d wished to for thousands of years. 

Crowley’s bed is welcoming, despite the darkness of it. It sinks around them, embracing Aziraphale’s body and supporting his spine so he can curve up against the demon hovering over him. 

“Can I?” Crowley asks, starting to undo buttons anyway. He makes eye contact while he pretends to wait for the answer, fingers busy, and sees the disapproving eyebrow. He knows immediately what it’s for and corrects himself with a roll of eyes. “Oh, I am sorry.  _ May _ I?”

“You may,” Aziraphale grins and pulls him back down to kiss a bit more. 6,000 years is a long time. There is too much kissing to catch up on, but he’s going to try.

Crowley doesn’t object to his attempt, spreading over him, drinking down kisses like he does good wine (greedily and deep), somehow still undressing the pair of them, which is good because Aziraphale’s hands are lost in the flame of his hair and unwilling to make any attempt to assist. The demon’s hands sneak inside partially unbuttoned clothing and the contact makes Aziraphale worry his own hair might be standing on end. It’s all static and heat.

Crowley moans into the kiss, his fingers digging in eagerly. And that’s when the angel freezes, tenses, makes a noise of mild distress. 

“Woah, woah, what, what?” His partner has frozen also, pulled his hands away.

Honesty is generally the best policy in these situations, Aziraphale finds. So, of course, he lies through his teeth. “Just ticklish.”

Crowley’s eyes are so narrowed in suspicion he looks like he’s squinting. 

“Right.” Aziraphale sighs. No point lying to him, is there? He’ll know, he always does. “I’m just feeling a little insecure, alright?”

“Abouuut whaaat?” He drawls, like he does when his brain is working fast and his mouth is still catching up. He sits up to look down at him. 

Aziraphale waves a hand over his general form, not sure how Crowley can be confused by this. “That.”

Crowley looks between them, his hands still up in surrender, for some reason. “Your… clothes? Yeah, I know, they’re awful, but they’re quite cute on you.”

“No.” And doesn’t frown. Really, he doesn’t. His clothes are fabulous. 

“How complicated your trouser fastenings are? Because I was running into trouble with those, I admit.”

“Crowley.”

“Erection?” 

“Definitely not.” Is he serious? Does he really not have any clue? “I’m…  _ soft _ .”

“Oh fuck off,” Crowley huffs, and descends to kiss him again. “Not to belittle your issues, but I adore every damn inch of you.” He moves his kisses lower, sucking at the flesh of his neck, the gentle bumps of his collarbones. 

Aziraphale feels a small bubble of pleasure at that declaration. He cradles it carefully, determined not to let it pop. Also determined not to let it inflate too quickly, because that will make it brittle and weak. He tries to believe him, he does, but still worries that when his clothes are removed, Crowley might have to make an  _ effort _ to ‘adore every inch of him’. There are quite a few inches, really. 

Crowley moves back to wrestle with his trouser fastenings again. He tongues at Aziraphale’s belly button, bites sharply at the softness around it. “You are fucking delicious,” he says against the light trail of blonde fuzz beneath it, unaware of how that simple statement soothes a few more uneases. “But you  _ have _ to do something about this thrice-damned chastity belt, because I am foiled, defeated, thwarted! Are these fucking  _ braces _ ?!”

Aziraphale laughs, shoving him out of the way and opening the hook on his own. He frees the buttons at the join of his suspender braces, so getting tangled in his layers will be less of an issue. And it _ would _ be an issue, because Crowley is yanking at his shirt, trying to get his clothes off with just brute force and ignorance. 

“Oh for crying out loud.” Aziraphale pushes him back, looking to the heavens as though they might grant him a little patience with this ridiculous creature. They’re not listening. 

He removes his own shirt, loosening cufflinks and sliding his arms out while Crowley rips his own top off, a button flying loose from somewhere, and lobs it over his head, across the room. Then Crowley moves on to the now-open trousers, decadently sliding his hands down the angel’s hips, either side of him, and tugging them down slowly, as if balancing himself on the edge of suspense. Aziraphale swallows heavily, and tries to find that bubble again.

Crowley, however, only gets the fabric rumpled down around the angel’s knees and then he gets distracted, his face lit up, his eyes wide and ravenous.

"Oh yes," he murmurs covetously, running his hand up and down the hair-roughened skin. 

"Sorry." Aziraphale doesn't know why he said that, but he knows that alongside the masterpiece of Crowley's half-naked body, he feels a bit like apologising. 

"Oh, you will be," he threatens. "How absolutely dare you have such tempting thighs. You're an angel! This should not be allowed."

"Tempting?" Aziraphale manages, a bit high pitched, but still a word.

"Glorious. Wicked delightful. Fucking sssinful." Crowley has ceased moving his hands up and down, removed them, and replaced them with his face. 

His stubble rasps at the sensitive skin of Aziraphale's inner thigh. His nose tickles as he trails it up and down, taking in the scent of him like the angel would freshly baked brioche. He breathes hotly, open-mouthed, panting as he extends his tongue and  _ laves _ ... Oh, well, that really is rather pleasant. 

Crowley fights with his own trousers now, he seems to have issues with this particular item of clothing, or perhaps he’s just a bit desperate, plus he’s stubbornly refusing to remove his face from Aziraphale’s legs. 

“You know, well, not this time, not now,” he grunts out against the skin, struggling and whipping his legs about like a thrashing spider stuck on its back. “But next time, or some time, whatever, whenever, soon, you  _ have _ to let me sit on you, rub off on your thighs, fuck, just come all over you, you can squeeze me with them, just wrap them around my hips and  _ crush me _ , shit, these jeans, Aziraphale, get rid of these, please...”

Aziraphale does as requested, even though his mind feels as though it has short-circuited in some way. Crowley has a dirty mouth. Well, he knew that much, he’s heard the things that come out of it often enough, but not like this, not about and for him, not the things he wants to do to him, how much he desires him. And Lordy, it turns him on, makes him feel all shivery and quivery, starts a fire in his pelvis, up above his cock, deep inside. 

The demon can’t seem to stop talking, pure filth pouring from his mouth (something now about slicking the angel up and fucking between his legs). He’s pulling down Aziraphale’s briefs, shoving them down to dwell with his trousers - still around his calves. Aziraphale uses his feet to pull them off, and Crowley thanks him for it. 

“That’s better. Much better. Let me in,” he wriggles his body in between Aziraphale’s legs, “Oh, angel, I have such a kink for your thighs, lift this up.” He tugs a pale leg up with one strong hand, bending it at the knee to leave his foot flat on the mattress, and then he, quite frankly, worships. Strokes the gentle curve of his tensed hamstring muscle, kisses at the heavy flesh of his quadriceps. “I want to do it with a cunt too, rub all over you, get you all wet with my juices, grind down on you until I come all over the place. Then just wiggle on over and sit on your cock. But that’s for another time, yes?”

“Um...Yes?” He’d be quite happy with that now; it sounds incredible. It all does, to be honest.

“This time--”

“This time,” Aziraphale interrupts, before he can put voice to any more of his indecency, marvellous though it is. He doesn’t think he can take much more before he just explodes. 

“This time,” Crowley interrupts right back, with a grin, then turns serious. “This time... I just want to love you, alright?”

Aziraphale smiles widely, warm inside, his chest swelling with the feeling. “Perfect, my dear.”

Crowley moves up over him, slowly, sliding their bodies together, the whole way up. The bumps of his ribs are a caress of their own, and the tickle of his chest hair paints passion on Aziraphale’s skin. Crowley licks at a nipple, reverently scraping his rough chin over the swell of a pectoral, drags his teeth over the round corner of a shoulder. 

Finally he reaches his face and their eyes meet, weighty with emotion. Then he kisses him, softly sucking, gentle nibbles at his lips. It makes Aziraphale’s stomach tingle inside. He nips back, then licks carefully, cautiously, into Crowley’s mouth, dabs his tongue onto the slightly too sharp points of his teeth, tastes the inside of his lips. 

He realises , that in his own self-consciousness, he has barely looked at the man, demon,  _ being, _ with him, on him. He has missed admiring the sensual angles and lithe physicality that he almost knows so well. He wants to look, he wants to touch and taste and devour. 

There is, however, an erection pressing distractingly up alongside his own. They are squashed together between one concave belly and one slightly rounded. Crowley rolls his hips slowly, pushing his cock to stroke over Aziraphale’s abdomen, moaning into his mouth. Aziraphale is fairly sure he can feel sparks fizzing from the connection. He runs his hands down Crowley’s back, feels the bumps of his sinuous spine, the muscles of his lower back shifting with his movements. He finds the dip before the curve of his buttocks, and follows it down to palm at them, to dig his fingers in and urge him on. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Crowley is whispering in his ear. “So perfect.”

Aziraphale tips his head back to encourage the mouth at his neck. Crowley obeys, shuddering in his undulations and adulations as he sinks his teeth in. 

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he murmurs a few seconds later, breathing hot and heavy. He reaches down between them, grips their cocks together in a loose, slippery grip, so the sensation of his thrusting is concentrated. He lands soft kisses on his angel’s flushed cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth, panting into the hairline at his temple when it begins to become too much. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps, feeling the odd, tight heat inside him starting to build, growing deeper and wider, spreading like pressure. 

“Yesssss.”

Crowley lowers down onto his elbow, free hand delving between Aziraphale’s head and the mattress, burying his fingers in his hair. His body is sticky with sweat, and the angel can see the tension in his muscles as he moves more urgently. Aziraphale uses the opportunity to secure his teeth around the shoulder now quaking in front of his face and  _ bite _ . 

The noise that erupts from Crowley is unearthly - a rasping roar that shouts of power. He spills hot and slick on their bellies, body bucking as his hips push down with crushing strength. If Aziraphale were human, he would be fractured. He is quite the opposite. 

Crowley doesn’t slump over when his climax drifts off into judders and aftershocks. He stays precisely where he is, and carries on. He drops his over-sensitive, softening penis out of his grip eventually, and focuses on Aziraphale’s pleasure, capably wanking, squeezing him just right, teasing his thumb at the head of the angel’s cock. 

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale huffs out, his legs tensing in preparation for everything currently building up to come tumbling down triumphantly. 

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

He does. He comes hard and loud, crying out Crowley’s name like a Gospel, his voice cracking as he buries his face in the slender neck, hot breath sticking them together. He loses reality for a few seconds, moments, possibly longer; finds stars and galaxies behind his eyelids. 

“Well, aren’t you just  _ divine _ ,” Crowley mumbles into his ear a minute later. 

Aziraphale isn’t sure he was meant to hear it, but it puts another puff of joy into the bubble. He pulls his hands back up Crowley’s body, enjoying the shiver it induces, and wraps his arms around his shoulders in a clear embrace. 

“Let’s just do this for the next forever, yeah?” He hears.

The smile curving Aziraphale’s mouth is so bright, he can see the shine in the air around him. He squeezes tight, cuddling hard, and teases, “I’m not waiting that long for you to rub off on my thighs.”

Crowley’s startled squawk is a wonderous sound. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me for further discourse on [ Twitter.](https://twitter.com/KatNoggin)
> 
> You can enable my caffeine addiction on that site we don't discuss here. It fuels my writerly soul and makes my heart sing.
> 
> But comments and kudos are what makes my world go round. Please and thank you.


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